


Stanley Uris Breaks the Law

by showercap



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Minor Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Minor Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sad Stanley Uris, Stanley Uris Has OCD, Stanley Uris Lives, Stanley Uris is So Done, Stanley Uris-centric, Suicide Attempt, stanley uris has anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 21:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/showercap/pseuds/showercap
Summary: "lights i can’t see,what did i do that this would be done to me?"He knew what he saw in those lights back in 1989.He knew what he was supposed to do.But who says something that was writtencan't be avoided.- - - - -another fix-it fic because I just want to be happy





	Stanley Uris Breaks the Law

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic  
so please shoot me  
thank you  
\- clem

Stanley Uris lived an organised life.  
He was, fair stated; an organised person. In his opinion there was nothing wrong with that. Life was a lot easier when you knew what you were doing and what you were planning to do.  
For Stanley, that summer night involved finishing his 1000 piece bird puzzle, followed by watching Family Feud with Patricia Uris; with her usual statement of thinking she’d be good on the show.  
Maybe that call she had with her mother earlier that evening would be brought up; but the subject matter of the call was well known enough that it wouldn’t be discussed. It wasn’t a conversation either of the couple needed for tonight; it was only Thursday after all.  
Later Stanley would prepare for bed, dreading sleep only to hope to wake up from what he dreamt.  
A routine that he’s followed vaguely since he moved to Atlanta with Patty.

What wasn’t planned for the quiet Thursday summer night was a phone call from Derry, Maine.

Stanley knew as soon as his eyes saw the number, he knew.

_1_

_2_

_3 rings_

“Are you going to answer that Stan?” Patty queried, her own attention focused on the flight options for their holiday to Argentina.  
_“Why not, it’s summer.” Stanley had said._  
He wasn’t spontaneous. But he needed a holiday.

He should answer it shouldn’t he? It wasn’t even that late, 6:00pm was near to the cut-off zone of when it was considered informal to call. But it wasn’t later, it was only 6:00pm, it would be considered rude to decline. Why wouldn’t he answer?

_4 rings_

Stanley picked up the phone.

“Hello? Stanley Uris speaking”  
When did his hands start shaking? A sickly feeling of pressure at his finger tips, a burning sensation in his left hand.

“Stanley? It’s Mike.”  
_He knew._

Mike; soft, but so, so strong, so smart,  
Mike.

“Mike Hanlon. From Derry,” He clarified after Stanley didn’t reply.

“Mike! Yes, of course! Sorry, ” A breath,  
_two three four._  
“Hi! Sorry, how are you?” His voice grew fainter, whether to not bother Patty or to focus on listening, counting.  
_He knew_

“Yeah, a long time. 27 years.”

_He knew._

“IT’s back, IT’s come back, hasn’t it?” All of him was shaking, his hands grew clammy, and his throat tight  
yet everything else in the house, in the world outside his current thought track was dead still.  
“that’s why you’re calling,” a mere mumble.

“It’s starting again Stan,”

Mike sounded so confident, he knew.

Stan _knew._

Memories of summers spent with them, in a place that always had a rotting feeling.  
It's hands reaching out and holding, strangling him. The feeling of constantly being under the water, trying to swim back up, back to the sound of laughter, back to the sunlight, they were there, they were always above the water. Laughing _at him._

“Tomorrow, I need you here tomorrow, I’ll text you everything you need to know.”

Stan didn’t want to go, he couldn’t go.

He wasn't _allowed_ to go.  
The hands were still there, still grasped tight, tighter. A phantom feeling for 27 years becoming a solid pressure once again.

“See you Stan the Man.”

The line ended, Stan still held the phone to his ear, listening, hoping.

But he knew.

“Who was that?” Patty began moving to the lounge with two glasses of red, it was nearing their allocated Family Feud time, something that they did, that they planned.

_Focus_.

“Oh, a uh, an old friend,” stumbling over his words, Stan shook his head, putting down the last puzzle piece that had marked his hand, he didn’t know he was holding it, let alone so tightly.  
“From Derry, used to hang out with Bill and I.”  
Bill Denborough, big Bill, stuttering Bill.  
_Bill would be there._

“Another one of your mysterious friends,” Patty spoke with a hint of excitement, and a lot of disbelief. She didn’t think her husband would lie about who he was friends with as a kid, but to mention not only one being a major horror flick author, and for another to call out of the blue at 6pm. She was a little doubtful over her husband’s claims of a plain childhood. She could see that he was shaking.

Stan laughed, or rather chuckled, the sort you would hear from nervousness, discomfort, _stress, **anxiety**_  
_stop._  
He knew.  
“Yeah, hadn’t spoken for a while, honestly I’m a bit confused how he has my number.” He gazed over the unfinished puzzle, the missing piece, the empty spot. He turned away.  
To head to the kitchen where his jacket he’d worn for the day hung over a stool.  
“He was just calling up, to check up, thought we should have a reunion," reaching into the left pocket,  
"the seven of us.” He said to himself, reassuring himself.  
_They would all be there right? Seven, like before._  
**_Lucky Seven._**

His hands still stuck in the left pocket, fumbled around to finally grasp around a packet of Marlboros.  
Always the left.  
He checked for his lighter and tapped it atop the packet.  
_tap tap tap tap._

Patty watched him from the lounge, she knew him to smoke, but never this late.  
“When were you planning on going? To the reunion?”  
Was this okay, for him to smoke this late?

He focused back to her, to Patty.

_Tap tap tap tap._

“I’m not sure,”  
lies.  
He knew.  
“He said he’d text over more information, sometime this week apparently.”

Patty thought for a moment, she knew her husband. She loved him and she knew him enough to know he would not smoke this late.  
“Are you okay?”

Stanley stood in the middle of the kitchen, _tap tap tap tapping_ on the packet of Marlboros, hands shaking, back sweaty.  
“I just need to think.”  
_yes_  
“I’m just going to have a bath.”

He nodded, more to himself in reassurance. And headed up to the bathroom, where he would take a bath, have a smoke,  
and think.

**Author's Note:**

> Stanley's OCD is based around my own  
But I do appreciate anyone with other experiences to mention something if it doesn't seem right  
I want to just mmmmwrite correctly  
next chapter will have a warning at the start  
thank you  
\- clem


End file.
